Into a Tailspin
by Rachel2008
Summary: She thinks she can control it, but she knows she can't.


Author:**raachel2008**.  
Disclaimers: They aren't mine, no copyright infringement is intended, blah blah blah.  
Spoilers: The unfamous CTV promo for 6.08. I couldn't resist.  
Summary: She thinks she control it  
Rating: T, just to be safe.  
Feedback: Like it, don't like it, just let me know.  
Archive: No.  
Author's note: The lovely **princessxleah** over LJ was a great beta. Her work is awesome, so go read it. **Dawn**, yours is coming. Do not fear, for the muse speaks.

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Cristina hadn't meant for it to be a regular thing. It wasn't about the sex. It certainly wasn't about love. She didn't feel ashamed, or particularly dirty - she was doing what she had to do to remain sane amid the chaos that her life had become. She needed the control over the tiniest part of that tailspin she couldn't understand herself, and it was easy to control him. He thought he was hardcore, but he wouldn't have survived one-third of the things Owen had managed to. He saw himself as a cocky smart-ass, but sooner or later Alex would beat the shit out of him- it was bound to happen.

There was no cute cuddling, no deep personal talks. Some random chit-chat, a few moments talking about a common patient once in a while. It was what it was, shutting everything out, completely. Her father. Owen. Herself. Those little three seconds where she felt everything and yet felt nothing, she could only achieve with the other resident because she couldn't bury herself in him, for you can only lose yourself over and with someone you love. When that had hit her, she had finally understood what went wrong with Burke, unable to blame him the same way anymore. How could she?

The only pang of guilty she felt was in surgery, in those rare occasions the three of them were working together. It was in Owen's nature to teach, it came instinctively to him. The enthusiasm in his voice and the sparks in his eyes at his student's success – the student that was fucking his girlfriend behind his back – made her uneasy. It was double -no, triple -cheating because you don't play with the only thing that had kept a man alive during the worst moments of his life. That would keep him alive when shit hits the fan and his world crumbles again.

Meredith had sensed that something was wrong. She had kept pushing, digging, probing for an answer. When Cristina had finally told her, that no, Owen hadn't hurt her again, and yes, she was doing great in Cardio even if her current mentor was still hung up on her ex, she recognized the fear that had crossed her person's features for a fleeting moment. It was the realization that whatever it was, it wasn't pretty and that it would be Meredith's duty to pick up the pieces in the aftermath.

If George had been alive, he would have told her to get her shit together and start running three hours every morning, or find more people to cut open, or bite her nails until her fingers bled because there was no way to put this, but being part of the Dirty Mistress Club wasn't exactly a shining moment in someone's life. You don't walk around flaunting a medal on your chest, but that invisible scarlet letter burns your skin anyway.

She was pretty sure Lexie had overhead something. The way she looked at Cristina sometimes, it was one full of veiled criticism covered by a sugar coated nausea inducing smile. She never said a word, though. She didn't need to. Fuck you, Three.

When it finally happened, that clichéd and expected chain of events of his flight being cancelled at the last minute, him returning to the hospital to spend Christmas with her while the rest of his family was out of state, finding her sitting on Jackson's lap, his hands rubbing her ass over her scrubs, her tongue deep in his mouth, the only thing Cristina had wished was that she hadn't fooled herself about it not hurting.

She should have known, she just should have known, that intellectually knowing something isn't the same as emotionally experiencing it. She hadn't underestimated him, much, but she had completely misread herself.

She would remember an "out" spoken in a controlled, pissed off voice, Jackson's weak and futile protests, another "out," this time obeyed without demand. The escalating fight that she had accepted eagerly because she was tired, so tired, and angry. So angry, at him, at herself, at the universe, and any change would be better than that momentum she had been stuck in, and Santa Claus was a stupid tale anyway.

The excuses, hers, his, the mean things they shouldn't have said, but did, trust being shattered, love being tarnished, respect – self, for each other – just a small step from being completely forgotten, feelings, the fucking feelings bringing tears to both of them and making her spit the only, the one and only thing she wish she could take back. For it was true, but it wasn't a contest and what they had shared, what they had, what they were, what they could have been, what they should have been, deserved better.

"At least I didn't choke you."

She had regretted the words as soon as they had left her mouth, but damage had been done. The pain in his face couldn't be mistaken. It had taken him a couple of endless seconds to say something. When he did, it was barely a whisper, the words still hanging in the air long after he had turned around and left, not once looking back.

"I guess it is a good thing that you can breathe without me now, then."

_Finis._


End file.
